


Against My Better Judgment

by flamboyo



Category: One Direction (Band)
Genre: (in a reclaimed manner), (more about these 2 tags in the notes bc it's nothing serious), Alternate Universe - College/University, Clubbing, First Kiss, Identity, M/M, Minor Zayn Malik/Liam Payne, Misunderstandings, Nonbinary Zayn Malik, Slurs, Strangers to Lovers, accidental misgendering, done by mistake and after being corrected never again, idiots to lovers
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-03-08
Updated: 2021-03-09
Packaged: 2021-03-15 03:00:08
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 13,050
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29926881
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/flamboyo/pseuds/flamboyo
Summary: Harry had great expectations for his first year of Uni, but not even on his wildest-dreams-bingo-card he could have gotten“beautiful, sweet, funny lad who sits next to him in class is paired up with him for a project”,what is this, a rom-com?Needless to say, though, the man of his dreams wouldn’t go around spitting slurs while talking to a friend. Angry, disappointed, hurt, Harry decides he's not going to let this slide. He is going to confront Louis about it.
Relationships: Harry Styles/Louis Tomlinson
Comments: 21
Kudos: 153





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Hi! This is me again choosing to write things that have vaguely happened in my dreams once. I’ll clarify the two tags in the endnotes, as in they go a bit spoiler-y. Please check those out if you think they might upset you.  
> And, if not, enjoy the reading! ♡

Not to be corny or anything, but Harry feels pretty blessed at this point of his life.

Uni is turning out to be a _blast:_ what is said about first years throwing parties and making friends with strangers at 3 am while trying to run away from your RA? Yeah, that.

There’s so much more to it, too: his roommate is an okay guy, a bit quiet maybe but that's better than the opposite, his courses are all interesting so far and he has spotted more than once flyers for lgbtq+ meeting organized by students around campus. He still hasn't worked up the courage to check those out, but for now, it’s enough for him to know that a space like that exists, here. He has been in Uni only for three weeks, after all, so he hopes courage will come to him soon.

But, above anything else, he has met Louis.

Which, he has to admit, sounds a bit dramatic when you consider they have known each other for a little less than Harry has been here, but still, the sentiment remains. They didn’t meet until the second lesson of their English class, required for an English major in his first year like Harry and an elective one for Psychology major Louis.

Louis had made a joke about how _Reservoir Dogs_ was the best modern adaptation of Romeo and Juliet, and that Baz Luhrmann’s version was nothing compared to the love story between Larry and Freddy. Harry had almost choked on his tongue trying to not laugh too loudly. After that first class Harry targeted _‘befriending that enlighten stranger’_ as his primary English class goal, and sure enough later in that same week he sat next to him, batted his eyelashes a bit, and introduced himself.

Now, Harry was only hoping to find him as funny as he had imagined him, test his recent stroke of luck and maybe get himself an acquaintance; but he didn’t expect the aforesaid stranger to be _hilarious,_ and, on top of that, to see him batting _his_ eyelashes at Harry. Maybe it was all in Harry’s head, this enthusiasm that followed him around in every aspect of his uni’s life, but Louis, as he had then learned the guy was called, chatted with him at the end of the class and even winked at him when they said _bye._

Okay, maybe that last bit was only in Harry’s head, but Louis’ sense of humor, gorgeous face and quick wit was enough for Harry to daydream about him for the rest of the day. And since a thing leads to another, now Harry has a crush on the first lad he found that was both hilarious _and_ hot. Typical, really.

Harry is aware that this feeling he’s having that all the stars in the universe have aligned for his success and happiness is very egocentric, but he is _happy,_ and everything has worked out just fine for him during these past three weeks, so he’ll just keep on feeling blessed.

This overwhelming excitement for his new life only increased when the English professor divided the class into groups for a project work they’ll have to present next month. He was sitting beside Louis when they got the memo, as he always does, and they quickly had turned to one another and formed a group with some other students around them.

Easy peasy breezy, Harry is now going to spend even more time with the most interesting person he had met here.

So it's only legitimate that when everything crashes and burns the first time they meet with their group Harry is left heartbroken and disillusioned. Maybe not even because he has learned Louis is not the wonderful guy he had painted him in his head as, but maybe more because he had let himself dream about this fairytale of the universe conspiring in his favour. 

He doesn’t live in a fairytale, he has to remember that. It’s just, maybe he had hoped reality was a tad less harsh than what he had discovered it to be.

~*~

Don’t tell anyone this, but Harry started to get ready to see Louis almost one hour ago, as if they haven’t seen each other twice a week for three weeks already. Wait, scratch that: if Harry was going out alone with Louis that would have been still an acceptable behavior; sadly, he is meeting him in the common area of the English building to discuss the first point of their project. With three other people.

So, here they are sitting at the large tables scattered on the first floor, flocks of students zooming past them and chatting at various degrees of loudness around them. It’s nice rather than distracting, the high energy around them is putting everyone in a good mood. They’ll have to discuss how to divide the work before diving into the research, so being here instead of the library is perfect.

Harry is just a tad overdressed for this task, but he is feeling confident in how good he looks in his outfit and how prepared he is on the topic of the project.

He doesn’t know the other three people working with them, but he is under the impression that everyone is a bit in awe of Louis, for how older he is and how friendly he acts with their professor.

They start working quickly, everyone wanting to conclude the organization portion and get this meeting done.

Harry steals some glances from his screen to Louis, sitting on his left. He’s trying to act casual, but Louis busts him the second time, grinning back at him. Harry rushes back to stare at his own screen, thoughts so scrambled he stares at the Google homepage without doing anything for five entire seconds, feeling his neck burning up.

He’s trying to come up with some brilliant joke about Literature, or at least some appealing way to start chatting with him in a space that is not their unofficially assigned seats in class. Around him everyone is working, though, so he busies himself into his research and postpones his plan for later.

They’re all working on their laptops when Louis raises his eyes from his screen, squinting in the distance.

“Zee!” He calls, loudly.

Standing on the other end of the table there’s a guy with green shaved hair and a leather jacket (in _October?)_ , holding onto one of his beaten backpack’s straps. To complete the look, he has ripped jeans, a bunch of pins secured everywhere, which Harry can’t read without staring at them for too long, and an infectious grin on.

Whoever that is, Louis looks _elated_ to see him. Harry observes the exchange and bites down on his pen.

“Sorry guys, gotta catch up for a mo',” he rushes out, already standing up to go to his friend. “It'll be quick.”

“Not gonna steal him for too long,” the handsome stranger says, winking in their general direction.

Harry may feel a bit intimidated by all this. The stranger is kind of hot, kind of touching Louis’ arm, and looks so effortlessly _cool_ in his distressed but still stylish clothes, making Harry feeling a bit small, in his over-thought outfit of black jeans and a simple shirt. 

_Hey,_ he thinks, focusing back on the debate that's happening in his group, _you liked yourself when you walked out of your dorm. Keep doing that._ But that’s easier said than done, when the green-haired guy is chatting with Louis like it’s the easiest thing in the world, and Harry has been testing jokes in his own mind to work up the courage to talk with him after they have done this project.

Louis and his friend don’t go far to chat, only a few steps from the table Harry and the others are still working on. Harry tries to not listen to their conversation and focuses on the discussion Rebecca and Ivan are having, but some bits of their chat still arrives at his ears.

Louis’ friend apparently studies English as well, and they didn’t expect to meet here today. It all sounds good and innocent, so Harry snaps out of his trance and starts participating again on the current topic of how to divide the workload.

He’s actively engaging in the conversation when it happens.

Thinking back at it, Harry knows he wouldn't have heard what Louis said, if he hadn't had that word pronounced with _that_ infliction burned in his brain.

And really, he’s trying to tune out Louis’ conversation with his friend out of respect and privacy, but it’s hard to ignore it when Louis says, in a sneering, mocking voice: _"that's so gay, bro"._

Harry jerks his head up, eyes wide, his breath caught in his lungs: there’s no way it happened, right? He must have heard him wrong, maybe it wasn’t him, the Louis he had known in these past weeks is _nothing_ like that, but–

But Louis is laughing at something his friend is showing him on his phone, open and unabashed, like his words have no weight at all, no meaning at all. His friend is laughing too, swiping through the phone’s screen, clearly showing something to Louis. They keep laughing at it, and the more it goes on the more it sounds cruel to Harry.

Harry wants to throw up thinking about what that means. Maybe he wants to throw up in general. He keeps staring at them, in the foolish hope they may look back at him and reassure him it didn’t happen, like maybe he had dreamt it. 

He blinks at them, and realizes how weird it is that his first instinct was to protect Louis, instead of getting angry with him. Probably it was just him grasping at straws, not willing to believe that what he considers a good person, someone he was hoping could become a good _friend,_ could say something like this.

More than that, it was because Louis was the first guy Harry has ever seen and thought, although quietly to even himself, _I could have a chance with him._ Well, he should've trusted himself when he had thought only straight guys wear sportswear that often. _Only douchebag ones,_ he should’ve added.

Still staring, deep in thought, he misses Rebecca calling his name, and comes back to reality only when Mariam snaps her fingers in front of his face, asking him if he can find the sources for the videos they want to include in the presentation. He nods, feeling numb.

His stomach has plummeted under his feet, his blood feels frozen.

He looks around at the table, but the rest of the people in his group are still chatting about the project, drawing diagrams and taking notes, not disturbed by what's happening around them. 

Harry wonders, in a chilling, terrible moment, if they really haven't heard what Louis had said, or if they just don't care. Or, worse, if they have heard him but see nothing wrong with that use of the word, if they, too, would use it in the same way, if they already _do_. 

He still feels sick when Louis sits back on his chair next to his one, minutes later. Out of instinct, he moves it away from Louis' one, even if just for an inch or two. 

“All good?” Louis asks at the table, affable and charming like he always is. He receives a bored _‘yeah'_ from Ivan, while Rebecca passes him the points they’ve written down so far.

Louis accepts it, still smiling. In all of this Harry remains silent, his back turned as much as he can away from him.

“And what about you?” Louis asks him, quietly. 

The Harry of three minutes ago would have loved some special attention just for himself, but the Harry of the present wants to have nothing to do with him ever again. 

“Fine,” he replies, curt. Then, to the rest of the table: “Let's wrap this up quickly, I have to... Ermh... Do stuff, this afternoon.”

Mariam, on the other end of the table, agrees with him before Louis can tease him about the expression had used, and they keep working in silence. 

If Harry would have removed his eyes from his screen for a moment, he would have seen Louis frowning at him, confusion and hurt clear on his features. 

~*~

In the days between their first rendezvous and the next class, Harry tries to reconcile the image of sweet, funny, always so _damn nice_ Louis with the _chav_ he had seen in the common area. 

During class, Harry makes an effort to notice if anything is different in Louis, as if he could now magically tell the dude is a homophobe or something, as if Louis, now that Harry had heard him laugh with a friend, would start yelling slurs at him during class or after.

In a way, Harry knows it would have been simpler if Louis was a terrible person all around, so he would have felt justified for scowling at him and not sitting next to him, but instead he’s the only one to feel like an ass when he does that and Louis frowns at his actions, confused.

Harry hates him a little more when Louis does a witty intervention during the lecture and makes everyone laugh. This time around the only response Harry has to his joke is a deep, guttural jolt of rage.

Louis still checks on him when at the end of the two hours he walks away, saying _bye_ to Harry from afar. Harry waves back at him hating how, despite everything, his eyes still linger a second too long on Louis’ biceps. They look incredible in the tight pale blue shirt he’s sporting today.

Reality is much more complicated than fiction, isn’t it? People are tridimensional and complicated, but at least Harry is content he managed to discover that two days ago and not six months into their friendship or something.

Because yeah, six months of friendship? That’s not going to happen.

Not when the study group meets for the second time and Louis’ friend appears from the mob of students again, green hair setting him apart just barely from a sea of colored hair and alternatively dressed people. Harry is developing a Pavlovian reflection upon seeing that green head approaching their table of tense back and clenched jaw.

Louis has something to show his friend this time around, and walk a few feet away like last time.

Harry isn’t sure if it would be better for his own sanity to try as hard as he can to listen to their conversation or to block it out completely, but curiosity wins over the dead-end research he’s making and he finds himself staring blankly at his laptop screen, his ears perched up.

He can’t set apart completely their low voices in the buzzing, crowded room, but Louis’ tone is easy to locate, especially when Harry had his voice in his ear in the form of witty comments for almost a month.

Harry doesn’t know for what he was hoping for here, but for sure it wasn’t to hear Louis saying again, _“it just looks so damn gay”._

Expecting it doesn’t make it more digestible: Harry's eyes go vacant on the screen, all his energy concentrated to not start screaming or swearing in the middle of the crowd. It doesn’t hurt any less, either: that dread is still here, the shock too.

Shaking his head, as if what he just heard could be shaken off him, he removes his attention from them and contemplates his choices. He feels stuck in the situation, because if he asked for changing groups he would offer his professor and his group mates an explanation, and it’s one he isn’t keen on giving. There's no way he would be comfortable in discussing this topic after he saw Louis and his friend mocking him so openly on campus. 

His group hasn’t completed their research yet, and probably wouldn’t appreciate Harry bailing on them without notice.

He doesn’t want to be stuck with Louis for more time than necessary either, but weighing the two options he still feels like he’d rather pick that one.

When Louis walks back, grinning and cheerful like he always is, as nothing has just happened, Harry knows he won’t be able to contain his outrage for long.

It’s becoming less about him and more about the other students as well: Harry doesn’t want to paint himself as a martyr, but he knows that where he feels angry and betrayed over his behaviour, someone else may feel completely destroyed.

He doesn’t want to confront him about it, still: he’s not that comfortable to talk about that and inevitably come out to someone who’s clearly set to hate him, but he feels like he has to.

He throws a glance at Louis, who’s quick to wink at him. 

_Okay,_ Harry decides. _Ultimatum. Don’t do it again, and I won’t yell at you._

~*~

Maybe Harry had teased the universe in putting his ultimatum like that. Maybe Harry and the universe don’t have the wonderful bond Harry would have sworn on merely a week ago.

Because of course it happens again, and of course it’s a lot worse than the first two times, as if those weren’t bad enough already.

Zee or whatever Louis’ _jackass_ friend is called seems to have learned Louis is going to be sat at that same table twice per week while they’re working on the last details of their project, and has decided to disturb them each time. Seriously, don’t they talk outside this building? Do they have to do this every time, and do they have to throw insults around _every single time?_ What kind of a fucked up friendship is that?

Harry has no idea what they’re looking at on their phones, but even when keeping his attention away from them he hears their chuckles.

Harry had accepted that Louis and his friend were two dickheads, but still, he hoped they were two adults who could respect adults' places. Instead, he has to hear Louis suffocating with laughter and muttering, _“damn, the faggotry of it all”._

Harry drops his pen, jaw clenching even more. The clicking sound it makes, paired up with Harry's full-body twitch, makes the other three people sitting with him raise their heads and stare at him, curious.

His face must be doing something truly awful, because Rebecca is looking genuinely confused about all of this. Maybe even a tad worried.

Harry can’t do it. He can’t fake pleasantries, not with how angry he’s feeling right now. He doesn’t want to spend a single second more than what he’s obliged to in Louis’ presence. Three pairs of eyes are now on him, and he rationally recognizes that even as angry as he is, he won’t scream at Louis here.

“Umh,” Harry starts with, voice barely getting out his grinding teeth. “I… Sorry, just remembered. I have a, umh, something I forgot about. I have to get going. Do you mind if I, umh–”

“Of course we mind,” Mariam cuts him off. “We still haven’t found a way to use the videos and the PowerPoint is only halfway done and–”

Ivan and Rebecca stare blankly at him. _Right,_ they still have so much to do, and now he looks like the douche who’s expecting the others to do all the work for him.

“Sorry,” he repeats, bluntly: he only wants to get out of here. “I can… work on the last bit of the PowerPoint, if you want to? This evening, from my dorm. I’ll send it over.” The three look at each other like they’re deciding Harry’s fate. Louis is saying goodbye to his friend. “What about,” Harry adds, standing up and gathering his things, “I also start the presentation? I’ll be the first one to talk, okay?”

 _Why are you being a coward,_ a remote bit of his mind is asking, exasperated. _Say what happened, do you think Louis deserves any sympathy? Don't you think they’ll be on your side of this?_

“Yeah, that could work,” Ivan says, still sounding a bit bored, and Harry forces a smile at the news.

“Cheers guys,” he says, walking away with his laptop still in his arms and his backpack open. “I’ll see you in two days. Umh, be good, yeah.”

He manages to run away before Louis walks back to the table. Small victories.

Now he only has to keep his promise and confront him. 

~*~

Two days later, Harry doesn’t run away from Louis. Two days later, Harry has decided to be brave.

He lets Louis sit beside him and offers him a cold _hi._ Louis reciprocates the greeting with far more enthusiasm, and when Harry barely reacts to it, he frowns out of Harry’s corner of the eye.

“Hey, Harry? I was meaning to ask, is everything okay?”

Harry turns, surprised. Louis is looking at him with genuine concern over his face. He’s leaning just the tiniest bit towards him, like he is inviting Harry to do the same, but leaving him his space at the same time.

“I saw you left the meeting two days ago in a hurry,” Louis continues, when Harry doesn’t reply. “Rebecca told me you were busy somewhere else, but I saw you sprinting to get out, so–”

“Everything's okay.” Harry is acting as cold as he can, but it’s already proving difficult with how comforting Louis’ voice appears to him. In a moment like this, with Louis’ attention all on himself, close enough to get a hint of cigarettes and… something else, a bit sweet, it’s hard to forget how much he used to like him. But now when Harry sees Louis’ face, he can only see how Louis laughed with his friend. “But I have to talk to you later,” he adds.

Louis grins. “Oh, sure thing. Later when? After class?” he sits back comfortably in his chair, apparently now feeling more at ease with Harry’s mood.

“After class, yeah. I have to talk to you about something serious,” Harry keeps his voice as steady and as cold as he can, but instead of looking intimidated or at least alarmed, _come on,_ Louis _smirks_ at him.

Baffled, Harry keeps staring at him a couple of seconds too long, before turning to the professor. They follow the rest of the lecture in silence.

The end of the two hours comes too quickly for Harry’s liking, now hyper-aware he has to follow through with his plan. Louis is already standing up.

“So, stud? How do you want me?” he says, and when Harry jolts his head up, he has the guts to _wink_ at him.

“We should go outside,” Harry grumbles through clenched teeth. He doesn’t like Louis joking like this with him: he used to love it, he was even hoping it could lead to some flirting, but right now it only feels mocking.

“Sure,” Louis continues, still apparently unaware of how angry Harry is. “Hey, do you want me to walk you to the next class in the meantime? When does it start?”

“Yeah, I’d prefer not.” Louis frowns. Something must have finally arrived in his head. “Let’s just get out here for a mo’, we can talk outside.”

The weather outside is perfect. The air is warm, it’s sunny, and students around them are walking to their classes or having a moment of relaxation on the benches or the grass. Harry and Louis walk to a quiet corner near the building’s exit.

“Listen, I wanted to tell you that…” Harry starts, focusing on how angry he had felt. He still doesn’t really want to do this, but he made it this far, so he’ll make it further. “I heard what you said to your friend during the group hours, and–”

“Oooh, you overhear our convos now?” Louis has that cheeky glint in his eyes, the one Harry loved so much some days ago. He’s standing with his hip popped out, one hand under the opposite elbow, smirking. “That’s not very polite, is it,” he’s still teasing, still light.

Harry looks dagger at him. He can feel his rage boiling in his chest, flowing down in his veins. Louis’ face drops, and goes back to being serious.

“I was saying,” Harry growls. “That I heard what you told him and what he said, too, and I want you to know–”

Louis’ eyebrows scrunch up. “Wait, wait, which friend?”

Harry huffs in frustration. “Can I finish _one_ sentence? This is serious.”

“And what I asked is, too.” There’s a sense of urgency in his eyes that can’t be faked. “Which friend? The one with green hair?”

Harry feels the urge to roll his eyes at the memory of that green-haired jackass. “Yeah, the lad you’re always talking to when we go working in the common areas.”

If Louis registers the jab clear in Harry’s annoyance, he doesn’t acknowledge it.

“Yeah, so,” Louis’ mouth twists like Harry just confirmed his worst suspicion. “Not a lad, and their pronouns are they/them. So, uh, use those when you’re talking about them.”

Louis doesn’t sound angry, but he looks very firm and serious about this, his chin high and his eyes boring into Harry’s one. And he should be this serious, because–

 _Wait, what?_ Harry’s brain connects what just happened and the surprise is so big he takes a step back without thinking about it. The only reaction Harry can have is to stare back at Louis, mouth open for the surprise, pure confusion on his face.

Louis, if anything, just looks more perplexed now.

“So, you wanted to talk with me about…?” He presses for Harry to continue, but Harry remains silent, his mind reeling, because _wait, what the fuck is happening here._

Do homophobes who throw insults around like it’s nothing hang around nonbinary people that much? Are they friends with them, usually? And, do they correct random people the _second_ their friends get misgendered? Is that normal? Does that happen often?

Harry is baffled, and right now he just wants time to freeze for a while, to let him think and rationalize what Louis just said. _What._ He can’t form a cohesive thought, not with how Louis keeps looking at him, now frowning as if _Harry_ would be the one having something negative to say about all of this.

“Oh yeah?” Harry bites back when he regains the ability to speak, trying to remember how angry he was a second ago. How angry he still is: whoever Louis’ friends are, Louis still said what he said. It was still wrong for him, and Harry is still allowed to feel angry at him. “And is he–” _fuck, shit, goddamnit,_ “Are _they,”_ he tries again. Louis looks unfazed. “Are they okay with you going around, outing them to strangers?”

Harry can do this. He can talk about a singular someone with they/them pronouns, he has read _tons_ of posts and watched _loads_ of videos about this topic, even if he has never met someone with that set of pronouns before, and he can shift the blame on Louis again while he looks for a way to bring up his original arguments.

“Yeah?” Louis is frowning but he’s now pleasantly confused, as, if anything, he’s glad Harry is trying to defend his friend’s honor. “They’re out and they have a pin with their pronouns and everything. So, of course I had to correct you. Zayn is my best friend.”

 _Holy hell_ , his best friend too, not just someone who Louis barely cares about who happens to not be cis. This conversation is biting Harry's ass, this is not how it was supposed to be going. Harry should have had the part of the rightfully offended and fair person, and Louis would have gone to his way with the tail between his legs.

He expected rage and hostility on both sides, but instead, Louis is as gentle as he always is, albeit still confused, trying to crack up whatever is fleeting through Harry’s mind.

“Still, what did you want to tell me?” He asks again.

Harry swallows down. He won’t chicken out. He can’t really channel the rage he was feeling five minutes ago, but the points still stand.

“Louis, listen, it’s… It’s great that your best friend is okay with you talking like that,” he starts, lowering his gaze to focus on himself and not on how Louis is back to frowning, standing two feet away from him. “And honestly I would have preferred to ignore you forever instead of doing this, but then there was the project and everything and we had to spend so much extra time together and I was so angry at you, still am, and I… I feel like I have to tell you this. Louis,” Harry raises his head to look at him in the eyes. Louis’ frowns had deepened, his arms now crossed in a defensive motion. “Listen, it’s disgusting that you go around casually throwing slurs into a conversation.”

Louis blinks. _“What?”_

“I’m not gonna repeat what you said because, no thanks, but you can’t spit homophobic bullshit like that. We’re not in middle school, not that, uh, that would’ve made it okay, but we’re at uni, we’re adults and–”

“ _Oh,”_ there’s a sparkle of recognition in Louis’ eyes. “You mean when I said–”

“Do _not_ say that to me,” Harry growls again, straightening his back and looking down at him, trying to use the couple of inches he has on him to make him look threatening. His rage is back, as strong as it was at the starting of this conversation. He won’t tolerate that.

“Okay, okay, sorry, you're right.” Louis has his palms up surrounded, eyes wide with stupor. “Harry, I’m so, so sorry you heard that and it offended you,” he starts again, slower. He does sound sincere, if anything. “And I am so sorry it happened more than once and you brought this with you for days. But it was just some bants we were having, it’s not like I would use those terms with someone I don’t know as much as them, or worse, someone I know doesn’t like those, and–”

“And what does that change?” Harry cuts him off, furious. “You shouldn’t use those terms at all. They’re not yours to use. Do you even know what it feels like to be told that? As if it’s an insult, when it’s nothing but?”

Louis drops his hands and tilts his head, like he’s trying to find meaning in what Harry just said.

“Not mine? Harry, what the…” he cuts himself off, perplexed. “Harry,” he tries again, still frowning. “You know I’m gay, right?”

Harry almost takes another step back. _What?_ For a long, terrible second, he thinks Louis is making fun of him, _he has to be,_ but the other guy is still looking in utter bemusement, like he has no idea how the two of them ended up like this.

When Harry doesn’t respond and keeps gaping at him like a fish, Louis lets out a confused laugh, and gesturing at himself he says:

“H? Come on, have you seen me?”

“Of course I see you, but what does that have to do with– I mean, I didn’t want to–”

Harry stops.

God, he _really_ wasn’t ready for this confrontation.

Harry, in his bedroom in Home Chapel, learned about lgbtq+ people, history, _things_ on his laptop behind a closed door, and had always read that making assumptions of any kind about people was rude. Uncalled for. His only contact with a world he _longed_ to be a part of has been that one: detached, impersonal, bleak. Countless sets of rules he religiously learned and followed, while he dreamt about going to a big, diverse city and finally finding his people.

So, even with Louis’ casual flirting, his extensive knowledge about Auden, and his comparison to Shakespeare’s most famous love story with a gruesome romance between a cop and a criminal _(damn,_ Harry _really_ should have seen it coming), he has never wanted to shove him in a box or make any conclusion. If anything, after hearing him saying the same words he got used to hearing, from elementary school until the last day of high school, he had made the intuitive choice of putting him in _another_ box, the _‘stay away from this one’_ kind.

But, and he is realizing this now, while Louis stares at him with growing concern and while making an arse of himself, he still took for granted that Louis’ friend was a lad, and why? Because they have a buzzcut and look like the general description for a lad? Not only that, but by not recognizing Louis’ self-expression he _still_ put him in a box, which had revealed to be the wrong one.

Harry had no problem making _those_ leaps of judgment, yet he was so quick in thinking the worst about Louis.

“Oh, okay,” he mutters once his revelation stops suffocating him. “I just– I thought that–”

He shrugs and looks back at Louis, sure to find him uninterested or even fed up by his erratic behavior and ready to go to his next class. But Louis is still looking at him, he always has, and there’s some gentle curiosity in his eyes, like he’s asking him to go on.

“I was thinking how I didn’t want to make assumptions about you based on stereotypes, but I’ve just misgendered your friend for that same reason, so, uh, I was thinking about how much of a hypocrite I am,” he says all in one breathe, praying he doesn’t sound too whiny. He’d hate that.

Louis just came out to him, he realizes _again._ And he has done that implying it was obvious and _good,_ and Harry has no idea how one can get to that point.

Louis smiles a little, resuming the position he was standing in before, popping the other hip and loosely holding his elbows.

“Yeah, well, it was a bit hypocritical,” he agrees, and he looks amused. “But... Maybe you also have to realize that whatever makes you think _‘oh no, I’m falling for a stereotype’_ is not always a bad thing?” Harry’s intrigue must be clear on his features, because Louis gets the tiniest bit closer to him, and looks even more confident than before when he continues: “Harry, I’m an adult. I know how I act and talk, and I do that because I want to and because I like it. H, what I mean is, if a complete stranger takes _one_ look at me and realizes I’m gay, I’d be fine with that, you know what I mean?” 

It hits him, then.

How confident Louis is, how strongly he carries himself. Harry hadn’t seen that because, in a way, he wasn’t ready to. He wasn’t ready to understand the universe that’s contained in Louis.

Still, he has no idea what Louis just said means: the thought of strangers taking one look at him and understanding something that still feels so deep and intimate makes him queasy.

He sees it now, he sees everything he was too hopeful and scared to see before: that the people he had yearned to meet his entire life simply exist all around him; he just has to open his eyes and learn how to catch the signals. Also, how to be less awkward.

“And, to continue with what you were saying before,” Louis keeps going, honest and direct. “Of course I know how it feels like to be called names and all of that, but that’s why we use those terms, and why we use them like that, to… Make fun of them? To… Reclaim that power in our hands? You know this, right?” He stops, then, to let Harry speak, but Harry is still assimilating all the information Louis had handed him so easily. “H, I know those words sound horrible, and they _are,”_ he continues when Harry remains silent. “But we just– I mean I’ve known Zayn for ages, and we always joke about this, because we’re at a point where we can use those terms and laugh about them. You get it, yeah?”

“I don’t,” Harry finally replies, truthfully.

Louis sighs. He looks apologetic. “Then I’m so, so sorry you had to hear that, I would have never–”

“No, I mean, I never got to… know someone that– I’m–” he stops and takes a deep breath.

He’s tripping on his words. He is too embarrassed for all of this, these topics are too serious for 11 am on a Tuesday, and he had basically come out to a semi stranger on a random sidewalk. It was his first damn time, too. That’s _not_ how he thought this was going to go. He is feeling too many things to understand what is going on, but he still wants to continue.

“What I mean is, I never met someone who’s out before, and I never got to… joke like that. So for me, all of that doesn’t mean anything fun. I never thought it could be something fun, that’s all.”

He shrugs again, embarrassed, just to have something to do with his body. Some people around them had gotten up and went into various buildings, and Harry knows they’re both late for their classes. He would love to go hide in his dorm instead of going on with his day, but he’ll have to be an adult.

Louis cocks his head, a curious glance now in his eyes.

“So you…” he starts, stepping closer to Harry. “You came all alone to me to confront me, thinking I was a dickhead?”

“Uh,” Harry feels so _silly_ right now. “Yeah, it was stupid, I get it now,” he mutters, dismissive, dropping his head. He hopes this awkward moment can end soon. He wants to burn it from his memory. 

“Stupid, what? No, Harry, you…” Louis steps even closer, getting inside Harry’s field of view. He places a hand on his arm, tentatively, and he’s so warm, so lovely, all Harry can do is raise his head back and look into Louis’ blue eyes again, startled by how close they are now. “You’ve been very brave, you know? You could’ve ignored it, you could have ignored me, or never talk to me again and talk behind my back. It all would have made sense. But you stepped way out of your comfort zone, and you did it for the greater good.”

 _Oh, no,_ Harry is blushing so much he _can feel it,_ and Louis’ admiration may be the sweetest accomplishment he has ever achieved, and all he had done was blaming Louis for something he didn’t even do.

“I– yeah, I tried–”

“You didn’t try, you succeeded,” Louis underlines, squeezing his arm. The back of his hand is soft, but the tips of his fingers are rough – he plays the guitar, maybe? God, that may be too much for Harry to handle. “You don’t even know me that well, you could’ve been right. I could have been that much of a dickhead, or worse. Do you get how brave you were?” Louis asks again, like it’s important for him that Harry understands what he has done.

Harry still doesn’t feel brave, not quite. He feels embarrassed and he wants to go hide under his covers and cancel this whole conversation out of his head. He feels small, childish, like he’s not tuned with the youth around him enough to understand what a joke is. 

But Louis’ admiration has sparked something in his chest, something that goes way deeper than his temporal embarrassment. Louis’ hand is still there, and Harry makes no move to get rid of it, lulled by how warm it is and how close they are.

He doesn’t know how to reply to Louis, so he doesn’t. He is shaky and drained from this chat they had, and since Louis seems to get him so well, after another silent beat he proposes to walk him to his next lesson.

This time Harry is quick to say yes to him, and they say their _byes_ from the door of Harry’s class.

~*~

Harry did actually spend one of the two days between their shared class hiding in his dorm, half in embarrassment and half searching anything he could think of on the web. He had then soon realized that it was that same MO that landed on that awkward situation with Louis in the first place, and declared himself stuck.

He wants to grow and learn, but more than that he wants to feel part of something. He wants to feel like he finally belongs somewhere. He has had this deep feeling of homesickness growing and rooting in his chest for as long as he can remember, a longing for something that didn’t exist for him back home, and for the first time in his life he feels like he could eradicate it. He doesn’t want to pass up this opportunity.

Maybe this whole ordeal would have been easier if Harry didn't have such a crush on Louis.

It was easy, natural even, to forget about it and replace that with disdain after the first time he had heard Louis talking with his friend, but the frenzy of finally liking someone came back to him a thousand times stronger after he had confronted him and discovered how smart and compassionate he is. 

After another day spent glancing at the colorful flyers around campus and writing down the day and time for their weekly meetings, Harry finds himself sitting down next to Louis again for their English class.

Louis smiles at him more than usual and offers him some polite chat. Harry was ready to feel embarrassed all over again in his presence, but Louis’ warmth makes him forget all his past troubles, and they chat until the professor arrives and starts the class.

For Harry’s amusement, they resume their chatting as soon as the class ends, and they keep talking until they walk outside, ready to go to their different buildings.

But as soon as Harry starts saying his _bye, see you for the project,_ Louis stops him, his smile becoming gentler, somehow.

“Before we part ways, I wanted to tell you that I’ve been… thinking about what you said.”

Harry’s shoulders drop. _Oh._ His first reaction is to go hide again, but Louis’ expression is so open and tentative he tries to tell himself it can’t be anything bad.

“O… kay?”

“It’s just… you said you don’t have many positive memories or... feelings.” _I have none,_ Harry almost says, but he’s too curious to see where Louis is going with this. He’s terribly grateful for how vague Louis is being, and it really strikes him how observant and attentive he must be, to mind Harry’s maybe not-so-concealed awkwardness about the topic.

“So I wanted to propose a thing, but no pressure, okay? I don’t want to assume how… comfortable you may be with certain things, it’s just for a bit of fun.”

Harry’s breath hitches, his eyes open wide. _He’s going to kiss you right here,_ is his first thought, quickly followed by, _What if it’s a convolute way to ask you for a date,_ and seriously, his brain has to stop before Harry gets too ahead of himself and then breaks his own heart.

“Shoot,” he croaks out, heart palpitating in anticipation.

“Would you like to come with me, Zayn, their boyfriend and some other friends to some club this weekend?”

A second passes.

“What?”

Louis doesn’t even have the decency to look flustered: he just raises his eyebrows at him, playful.

“Yeah, maybe it’s not the most orthodox method, but ever since I moved to Manchester for uni that place really changed me. I have so many positive memories there, just by seeing people having fun and dancing and existing. It really made a difference for nineteen-year-old me, you know what I mean? You get to see so many people who are just like you, and they’re happy and carefree. Just dancing and having fun.”

 _Oh,_ okay, Harry can see Louis’ reasoning behind the invitation. It’s not a date, _obviously,_ but it still sounds fun, and also something he wouldn’t feel comfortable enough to do on his own. Not yet.

Louis is looking at him like he’s waiting, and Harry realizes he still hasn’t uttered a single word out.

“Oh, yeah,” he rushes to say. “I… can imagine how that would… be fun because I… don’t know that many out people? Apart from the internet, I mean.”

“Oh, yeah, I totally get that,” he nods, sympathetic. “The internet is great to explore what you want at your own pace, but it’s nice also to check out that world you’ve read so much about. And Manchester is such a diverse city, one could always use some positivity, yeah?” Louis still hasn't stopped smiling. He has incredibly nice teeth. “So, really, no pressure, but we’re going there this Saturday, it’ll be fun.”

Harry nods, filing the information and already thinking about what outfit he could wear. Louis must have interpreted his silence for uneasiness, because he continues, more tentative this time:

“And if you don’t want to but you are still interested in… finding some positivity around you, and again, no pressure, for something more orthodox I can tell you that me, Zayn and Liam are part of Prism–”

“The LGBT group?” Harry cuts him off, unable to conceal the excitement in his voice.

“Yeah!” Louis’ smile is blinding. Harry wants to bask in its light.

“Oh,” Harry is biting his lips to not smile as much as his heart wants to, but it’s useless: his heart is beating fast and he knows his cheeks are red now. “I… I saw some flyers around, I was… gathering courage to go there.”

Louis’ smile morphs into something so soft and gentle, it makes Harry’s heart ache.

“We’d be honored to have you for a meeting, then. Next week or the following one, or in a month or two. No pressure at all.”

Harry looks down, his cheeks burning. He has never felt this warm, and it’s not just the blood flooding in his cheeks. “Okay,” he says only out of politeness.

He looks at Louis again, and he finds him closer to him than before, his expression still gentle and open. They remain like that for another silent bit, Harry's heart resuming its normal speed.

“I really have to go now,” Louis almost murmurs. “If you want to join us this Saturday, you have my number, right?” Harry nods. “Great, then text me or call me. And if you’re not feeling up for it, I’ll see you next week in class, alright?”

Harry is beaming. “Alright, Lou.”

They exchange their _goodbyes_ one more time, never stopping smiling, and part ways.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The explanation for the tags:  
> —Slurs: Harry overhears Louis having a conversation with Zayn, in which he says the word ‘gay’ in a way that Harry interprets as mocking, as he thinks Louis is straight. In another instance, Louis uses the f* word, still in a joke-y way, but Harry thinks it’s used in an offensive manner.  
> —Misgendering: Zayn’s pronouns are they/them in this fic. Before Harry knows this, he refers to them with masculine pronouns in his head. After he learns that he corrects himself and starts using the correct ones.


	2. Chapter 2

The music is loud, so loud the bass beats are making the walls tremble.

Or maybe the only thing that's shaking right now is just Harry, standing still with Louis' hand on the small of his back, while Louis is introducing him to his friends.

After spending the remaining bridge days planning outfits and thinking about fun jokes and smooth dance moves, Harry had a last-moment afterthought about joining Louis and his friends at the club, and inevitably ended up being late. So now he’s catching up with them at the dancefloor’s side, with no time to take in the scene in front of his eyes.

Louis’ group is a lot of people, too, and honestly between the loud music, the lights and the distractions Harry manages to register and remember only some names. He got Zayn’s, Liam’s, who he learns is Zayn’s boyfriend Louis talked him about, and some girl called Jade. The rest is a blur of shouts and wide, confused smiles above the music.

“Do you wanna go for a drink? I'm getting a drink. See you at the bar?” Liam shouts, bouncing and clearly high in energy and already a bit tipsy.

Harry should catch up with their drunkenness level, but instead:

“I like your hair,” is what he ends up saying, instead of _'coming with you'._ Maybe he genuinely wants to become friends with Louis’ group and everyone else on the dancefloor. Sue him.

Liam has a sidecut and his hair is a pale blonde, the color not uniform, almost patch-y, in a way Harry can't understand if it was made on purpose or not.

Harry is so overwhelmed by his bounciness, by the loud music, by the people making out and dancing around him. There's an energy in the air like he has never felt before. It feels vibrant, sparkly almost. Everyone seems... Carefree. Happy, confident.

Everyone is just dancing and shouting, but it feels so much more than that.

There are two girls next to him who have been glued to each other since Harry walked in here, and he has made a point of not looking at them even on accident, scared he may look creepy, but the sole thought of them being so happy is making him giddy.

People are dancing, people are singing. It's making his head turn.

“Thank you!” Liam shouts back, over the music. “Zayn bleached it, but they made a crass job, don't you think?” Liam laughs, knocking his shoulder against his boyfriend's one.

Zayn only rolls their eyes, slipping their right arm around Liam's waist. They have dark eyeshadows on, which covers most of their expression, but the fondness in their eyes is obvious.

“It looks cool,” Harry shouts back, but his voice gets drowned by a bass drop. Louis’ hand is still there, and Harry’s heart is ready to beat off his chest.

“I cut his hair, too,” Zayn chimes in. “Last time he tried giving me a buzz cut, a _buzz cut_ with _clippers,_ he almost snipped my ears off.”

“I did _not–”_

“Okay, we're going to the bar, see ya when you've stopped bickering,” Louis joins the conversation.

His hand had never left Harry's back the entire time, and he pushes softly, just his fingertips on Harry’s skin, to make him walk away from them. There's no need to wait for them, because the second Harry and Louis step away, they start making out. By the way Louis doesn't even bat an eye, he must be used to it. Harry, on the other hand, looks at them for a second too long, his heart beating even faster.

“Can you even drink?” Louis says directly in his ear, pulling Harry out of his daze.

He jerks his head towards Louis, then finds himself _too_ close to Louis’ face and snaps it towards the bar. Okay, calm down. He has to stop behaving as if he has never seen guys making out in front of him, even if he hasn’t, he’s being _rude._

“I'm nineteen and you know it, Lou,” he remembers to shout back, a beat too late to sound witty.

Louis shrugs, still standing behind him and navigating him to the bar. “Just checking.”

The music is a remix of some 80s hits Harry barely knows, and once they’ve pushed through too many sweaty bodies they reach the bar, where the music is still loud but they can hear each other without shouting.

They fill the time it takes them to have two multicolors, packed drinks in their hands singing along some of the remixes, their voices getting higher when some hits get put on. The drinks are strong, the music is loud, the air itself is vibrating. Harry is ready to go on the dancefloor, and, in an impetus of confidence, leads Louis to follow him there.

He drinks eagerly, a part of him wanting to prove himself to Louis. The music here is too loud to hold any more conversation, and they dance unbothered, squashed between a sea of sweaty bodies and different fabric textures.

Somehow, a couple of Louis’ friends whose name got lost find them and join them in their drunken dance. Harry laughs loudly at some of their moves, tries to get himself in the joke with the group, and keeps on drinking.

And again. And again.

The night is only young. He had wanted this for years.

~*~

The couches where Harry and Louis are sitting now don’t smell great, but they’re empty and soft and everything Harry’s spinning head and lack of coordination could ask for.

He shouldn’t have drowned that third drink so quickly, and now his body is asking for a moment to catch up. His head seems stuck in a spinning loop, which makes standing up difficult and dancing impossible.

Louis came with him to sit here on his own will, and Harry can’t stop feeling smug about it. _Yes. He has Louis all for himself._

“I love this place,” Harry mumbles, trying to sit even closer to him. People all around him are making out and dancing. This is close to paradise for him.

“I knew you’d like it,” Louis sounds too sober for his own good. Harry wants them to be embarrassing together.

“You should invite me to places more often,” and _yes,_ his chin is now on Louis’ shoulder, their thighs are pressed together. Louis doesn’t seem to mind. Maybe he _is_ as drunk as Harry feels.

Louis laughs. “Should I make you angry more often too?”

Harry frowns, his brain piecing together what Louis just said. 

“What were you laughing at anyway?”

“Mmmmh?” Louis’ eyes are wandering through the room, and Harry wonders if he’s looking for someone to pull. An irrational spur of jealousy floods him.

“When we were working in the common areas and then–”

“Oh,” Louis blinks in understanding, and focuses back on him. “Zayn was telling me about their and Liam's plan for Halloween.”

“Halloween? It's barely October.”

“Yeah, but gays? We're dramatic. And you don't get how big of nerds those two are.”

Harry bites his lip at the _‘we’,_ feeling exposed and welcomed at the same time.

“Zayn? A nerd?” That doesn’t make any sense. Zayn is so effortlessly _cool,_ with their dyed hair, their fashion choices and their literature studies. They’re the kind of a person Harry would be too intimidated to ever approach, afraid he’d make a fool of himself in front of them.

Louis just laughs.

“Sure lad.” _Lad?_ “You look at them and think they're the coolest kid in town? No way.” He’s still laughing. “Liam is even worse. They went to see Batman for the movies for their first date.”

 _“No,”_ Harry gasps. He tries to spot them on the dancefloor, but in the little corner where he and Louis are hiding right now the rest of the world appears far, confused, fuzzy.

“Yeah. Personally, I'm more of a Marvel guy than DC, but the vintage stuff, you know? The first Avengers, that stuff, you know what I mean?” Louis had scooted even closer to Harry, and Harry swears he could drown in his eyes.

He puts a hand on Louis’ cheek, tenderly.

“... None of the words you just said have any meaning to me,” he almost whispers, adoration clear in his voice. There’s no filter in him that could block him from saying or doing anything.

Louis laughs again, freeing himself from Harry’s hand, his voice getting lost with the EDM.

“Cheers lad. It's just me and them being nerds against the world, then.” His eyes sparkle, is that even humanly possible?

Harry frowns, trying to reconnect what just happened in his head. God, he’s drunk.

“But what were you laughing at?” he asks again, even if he doesn’t care as much as cupping Louis’ face again.

“Oh, right. They were showing me their couple costumes ideas.”

“Oh?” Harry won’t get teary over this, he _won’t._

“And since Zayn already has green hair, they were thinking about going as Cosmo and Wanda, from Fairly Odd Parents?”

“... Oh.”

Harry laughs, loud, free, and rests his head on Louis’ shoulder. The music is too loud to hear properly, but by how Louis’ chest is shaking he’d say he’s laughing too.

That is _so_ stupid. Is that the entire reason why they’re sitting in a gay bar together, drunk and laughing? A couple making costume plans, weeks in advance, about some stupid cartoon? Is that the reason why Harry got so angry and offended he had a stomach ache for days, the reason why he had made a plan to scream at Louis?

Harry sobers up at the thought: he thinks about how he should say, _‘yeah that's pretty gay’_ or something like that, because in a way he understands better now what Louis meant when he said it was almost an inside joke, or even to just show how he understood what that was for. Because, come on. He can see it now, how innocent and funny that was.

But he can't bring himself to say something like that, it just doesn't click in his head. His head spins for the alcohol and the chaos around him, and he realizes he had stopped laughing, his gaze lost on the floor, only when Louis starts talking.

“You don't have to agree with it, or with us at all, if you don't want to.” Harry raises his head to look at him, and they’re sitting so close now Harry can almost smell the gin in Louis’ breath. He doesn’t move, and Louis doesn’t either. “Liam, you know?” he continues. “He hates that kind of talk. A lot. Even as a joke, even if we all have known each other for years, and he knows where Zee and I come from.”

Harry swallows, feeling like Louis just read his mind. He wonders if he’s easy to read, or if Louis is an incredible, sensitive person.

“Yeah?” He tries, his voice small. He feels hopeful, understood.

Louis nods. “He does. So me and Zayn, and the other guys for the group, too, we don't make those kinds of jokes around him. And that's literally it.”

“Oh. Okay.” It seems so simple now, even simpler than before. Harry looks down at their pressed bodies, and doesn’t know how to go any further than that. Not when they’re talking about the lexicon.

“You don't have to accept it as, I don't know, social rule or as a part of your vocabulary if–”

“Let’s go dance again,” Harry interrupts him, getting up from the couch and extending one hand to Louis. “I'm definitely too sober if I'm talking this much.”

If Louis is surprised with his behaviour, he doesn’t show it. He accepts the hand to stand up, and still holding it he pulls him into the dancefloor.

Semantics can wait.

~*~

The floors are sticky and Harry is sure he has someone’s drink drenching half of his shirt. He doesn’t know how much has passed since their first break, but some of Louis’ friends have already left, to hit another club or to go home. Zayn and Liam are still somewhere around them, but Harry is far more concerned in how close he and Louis have danced until now: even his drunken clumsiness can’t steal this moment away from him. They’re at the borders of the dancefloor now, where the music is still loud but with fewer elbows hitting them.

The alcohol burning in his veins is making him light, ecstatic. The air around them is hot and humid, pressing over their bodies, and he wants to hug the entire world.

“I never want to leave,” he declares, feeling the headache pounding in. Louis laughs, so Harry decides to just hug him instead. He fits his face in the crook of Louis’ neck, enjoying the smell of fresh sweat and faded cologne. Louis hugs him back, laughing and swaying with him.

“I never got to... Meet anyone before,” Harry continues, muttering on Louis’ skin, close to his ear. He feels drunker than he has ever been, now that he’s not dancing. It’s like all that movement is now catching up with him. “A non-straight someone. I mean, that I know of, right? Not before I, uh, talked to you the other day.”

“Really?”

“Yeah. Small town and everything. Grew up all alone. It was one of the reasons why I was so eager to get to uni,” his tongue feels too big for his mouth but he’s still talking fast, like he’s afraid he could run out of words. “Meeting new people, _my people,_ in a sense? Stop, uh, stopping feeling so alone.”

If he was even a tad soberer, he would have felt embarrassed now, in dumping something so heavy on a half-stranger, in the middle of a club no less. Louis is as drunk as he is, though, and he only pushes him off himself to look at him in the eyes.

“Oh, H. You're not.”

His eyes reflect the stroboscopic lights around them, making them look now green, now pink, now purple. They’re transparent and sincere, and Harry, with his head heavy and his body light, believes him.

Fully, completely: they’re together in a place that belongs to both of them, it belongs to everyone around them. He got introduced to Louis’ friend, got trusted to their Saturday night with them. There’s no way he could believe he’s alone, not right now, not with Louis’ hand resting on his body.

They’re standing close, so close Harry can still feel his warmth over his body, beaming like an aura. He doesn’t even register the people who are still dancing around them. He _really_ wants to kiss him. It feels like everything that’s happened between them has led them here, for this. He just wants to lean in and kiss him like all the other couples he has seen.

Louis drops the hands he was resting on Harry’s waist and grabs his hand, pulling him closer to the bar again. The music gets less loud, and Harry feels like they’re shifting realities. Louis is looking at him, curiosity glinting in his eyes.

“So, you... Never meet a fellow...?”

“Gay?” Harry suggests, realizing just now that he never specified his orientation to Louis.

Louis’ smile is so warm around the edges. “Suppose. So?”

Harry is too drunk to read between the lines. Why is Louis asking that twice, is he maybe asking something completely different now? Well, the answer is still the same, and he's too tipsy to feel embarrassed about it when he repeats:

“No. No one. No one before,” _you,_ he wants to add, but that’s too much even for him.

Louis flashes him a wolfish grin. “Can see it was a brilliant idea to bring you there,” he comments, amused by Harry’s earnestness.

Harry nods eagerly. “I like this place, no, wait, I _love_ this place,” he laughs at nothing. “Let's stay here.”

“Yeah? It's not that good in the daylight. We could go somewhere better.”

Louis is _teasing_ him, he still sounds and acts too sober to Harry’s liking, and Harry is quicksilver, is burning with words left unsaid.

“You... Ugh.” He leans in, and kisses Louis on the cheek. He sees him cocking his head, a smirk now on. “Humor me, come on.”

Louis takes a step forward, making the distance between them even smaller. “Okay, then,” he agrees, the light in his eyes still there, his voice even lighter. “Let's stay here until they kick us out, then.”

“Not _that,_ I, Lou,” he leans on him, resting his head on Louis’ shoulder. It feels heavy, and Louis is not getting what he’s saying, or maybe he is the one who’s confused, lost. The headache is hammering in, he can barely feel his hands. “I meant it like. I like you.” Louis’ hands go rest on his back. “I like you so much, I've been liking you for ages,” he continues, his voice getting quieter. 

“Have you?” Louis muses, sounding amused. “You wanted my head on a stick, I mean, yesterday.”

“I want your head, right–” he grumbles. “I want it in my–”

“Woah, okay, got it, you're drunk.” If Harry was soberer, he'd say Louis sounded disappointed there. Louis forces him straight, and Harry stands there with his eyes closed, overwhelmed by the lights, a hint of nausea now growing in the pit of his stomach.

“Mh-mh.”

“No, you’re not tipsy, you're gone, you're completely smashed,” Louis continues, talking to himself. _“Fuck._ Can you stand still?” He tentatively retrieves his hand from Harry’s hip.

Harry whines at the loss of contact. “I liked you before that too.” It feels important to know. “Then I wanted to murder you but that, uh, that wasn't your fault. It was mine.” He opens his eyes, and finds Louis staring at him, his mouth twisted. Harry swears he can feel his heart plummeting down his feet.

“It was mine, too. Uh. Do you want to go back to your dorm? For _sleeping,”_ Louis adds, before Harry remembers how to wriggle his eyebrows. 

“Are you having a laugh? It's not even 3 am. I want to live here.”

Louis’ face goes back to be sweet. He always looks so sweet, Harry wants to kiss him so badly, he _needs_ to. “So you like this place, uh? Figured.”

“Yeah. And I like you,” Harry repeats, stubborn. He’s drunk, he’s confident. He wants Louis to respond to that, he wants him to have a reaction to it, whatever that might be. He doesn’t want to be left hanging, not like this.

“That's– okay.”

“You don't?” He pushes.

“Like this place? It's my favorite.”

Harry rolls his eyes, frustrated, but Louis is grinning, clearly making fun of him. “Don't be an arse. I mean, you don't like me?”

Louis touches him again, this time on his waist. The touch is so light Harry can barely register it. “You're a very cute drunk, I have to tell ya.”

“That's– that's not what I asked.” He frowns. “You're no fun.”

Louis tilts his head like he’s studying him. “I'm buying you another drink and then we'll go dance again, alright?”

“Mh-mh. I accept the proposal.” He stutters on the last word, but no one comments on it.

The line to the bar is shorter this time, and Louis holds him close the entire time. He’s too gone to understand what Louis orders him, but when he finds the glass in his hands he takes a generous sip, ready to be hit again with the delicious alcohol.

Except, it doesn’t happen.

“This is juice,” he slurs, holding the drink closer to his eyes, as to inspect its molecular composition. The one in Louis’ hands looks similar to his one, too. No point in trying to steal it.

“‘Course it is, who did you take me for? You're pissed.”

“A friend? You brought me to a club and you're not giving me alcohol?” _Oh,_ those were too many words. He holds the back of his hand to his forehead, as if he could take that off and hold it in his arms instead. It weighs way too much.

“Exactly. You don't need more alcohol, don't fret.” Louis takes his hand again, pulling him to the dancefloor, and Harry swears he would get himself in any type of situation if it meant for Louis to take his hand and lead him out of those. “Let's go dancing, you need some fun.”

It takes Harry more than a couple of steps to put his foot down and make Louis turn back to him.

“You still haven't replied to me.”

“Haven't replied to what?” 

He stops, shy. This is closer to begging now, to expect an answer after the third time, but he can’t let it go.

“Don't you like me?”

Louis turns completely to him, walks up to him, and cups his cheek softly with one hand. Looking Harry straight in the eyes, serious, he says: “What about, I reply to that when you're in a state where you'll remember my answer?”

“Why? I won't change my mind.”

“Oh, I got that.” Louis’ thumb strokes his cheekbone, and it would take nothing to lean on now and kiss him. “I just want you to be more in tune with yourself, that's all.”

 _That_ makes him frown. “So you like me too, right? That's what that means.”

Louis lets out a surprised laugh, followed by some more giggles.

“You're not making me wait to reject me, right?” This theory sounds solid in Harry’s mind.

“I'm not. That would be mean.” He’s still laughing, _that arse._

“Okay but then–” Harry _whines_ in frustration “So we’re kissing, right?” 

Louis’ eyes sparkle. “No.” Harry is going to kill him. After he got his fucking kiss, that’s it.

“You're a tease,” he grumbles.

“Maybe I am. Would you like that?”

“I. Umh.” Harry’s brain short circuits, leaving him babbling. He’s not even sure about what Louis just asked, but the suggestive tone was enough.

“Good to know.” He grabs his hand again, finally making them reach the dancefloor. “Let's go.”

“You're no fun,” Harry yells in his ear.

Louis just laughs again, and Harry can’t even stay mad at him, not when his mouth looks so inviting and when his body is so close to his. “Let's go dancing, come on. Let’s sober up.”

~*~

The ride home was uneventful. 

They reunited with Zayn and Liam by the end, and all four of them crammed up in a taxi that drove the short run to their dorms. Louis and Harry aren’t that drunk anymore, especially not compared to the other two: still, Louis sent them on their way, sure they were going to be fine, and insisted on walking Harry to his dorm.

Harry of course had accepted, wanting to spend until the last minute with him. They walked quietly across campus, not wanting to get caught or to make too much noise. The only sounds between them are their paced steps and soft chuckles whenever one of them almost trips or stops to burp.

Louis’ words reverberate in Harry’s brain, but he’s too tired to question him about them when they stop in front of Harry’s building. The dim light from the streetlamp barely enlightens their faces, and adding that to the weight of the alcohol that now has gone, Harry feels like he’s walking in a dream.

He rests his back on the concrete wall, wishing he could expand this moment to forever, wishing he could have the light of the day and his freshness back, and jump already to the next part, the one where Louis tells him whatever he wants to say to him. What if he’s the one who ends up forgetting? What if Harry doesn’t have the courage to say all of that again, once sober?

“So…” Louis starts, his voice quiet, just two steps away from him.

“I had fun,” Harry says again. It’s true, and, if Louis has to remember anything he had said repeatedly during the night, he hopes this one will be it. “And your friends are all awesome.”

“Yeah?” He grins, but it’s obvious how tired he is. It will be morning in not so long. “I’m glad. Can I leave you like this?” He gestures vaguely at how Harry is still leaning on the wall.

“You could, uh…” He almost asks again, but thinks better of it. “No, you can. I’m not drunk anymore, look.”

He stands up straighter, and then proceeds to raise one leg, in a mock of the tree position. He, trembling, lasts for two entire seconds, to then crash back to the wall.

Louis in this had gotten closer, his arms half extent, ready to catch him.

“See? I’m peachy,” he says, this time with genuine amusement in his voice.

Louis is still within arm’s reach, and Harry would love to have a hug, some contact of some sort, but Louis is just standing there, looking at him. “I’ll see you in class, then?” Louis murmurs.

“I… yeah, I guess.” Harry moves to get his keys, turning away from him, but Louis is still there. “Lou?”

“Can I kiss you?” 

He half-turns, making the keys click. Another beat passes.

“… Now?”

Louis had put his hands in the jacket’s pockets, and at least has the courtesy of looking bashful.

“Now, tomorrow,” he shrugs, and is he _blushing?_ It's too dark to be sure. “I don’t know.”

“Uh? I, umh–” Harry closes his mouth, since nothing but stuttering is coming out. _What._ He had hoped for this, but not for later in the night. Not so soon.

He turns completely to him, and doesn’t move any further. The tiredness and sleepiness is making him slow, and as much as he wants it, to have a concrete chance now feels overwhelming.

“I've never kissed anyone before,” he confesses, opting for the honest truth.

Louis looks up to him from his eyelashes, and Harry doesn’t know if he’s playing coy or if he’s genuinely timid, right now, but he knows this is almost too much for him to handle.

“I know. You told me that you never got to meet someone. And I can't kiss you while you're drunk, thinking you may forget it, can I?”

Louis words’ come rushing to him again, that _“ask me later”_ and _“I’m not rejecting you”._ It was for him. Even in the midst of dancing and drinking, it was for him and his sake.

“Oh.”

“So…” He moves closer, until there are just inches between them. “Can I be your first?” 

Harry feels weak. Louis asked, then asked _again_ to confirm, to be completely sure _._ He is never going to meet someone half as sweet as him.

In a rush of _want,_ he takes the final step and presses his lips on Louis’, sure that will be clearer than any more words.

Kissing is... different from what Harry had imagined: it’s _wetter_ and definitely more intimate, deeper. He finds himself copying what Louis is doing, from where he’s holding his hands to what he’s doing with his lips.

The stubble on Louis’ chin scratches his skin nicely, his cheeks warm and soft under his fingertips. He has this deep, firm urge of holding Louis closer, even closer than how they’re pressed now, to hug him and not letting him go. His lips are soft, warm, his mouth so _inviting._

Louis breaks away, just a little, and Harry hides his face on his shoulder again. He is not ready to look at him again, the palpitations in his chest are still too rapid.

Maybe he is a little drunk still, or maybe kissing the most gorgeous guy he has ever seen left him with no filter, but he ends up muttering on Louis’ neck.

“This isn't... Umh.” He takes a deep breath and Louis hugs him back. “This isn't part of you saying, _“oh, go explore the, uh, the positive gay sides of life”,_ right? Because, uh, I was serious before, when I said I like you,” he rushes out with his eyes still closed.

Louis turns his head so he’s whispering back on Harry’s neck. “It isn't, because I _do_ like you, too. And I wanted to kiss you because I've liked you since we talk that first time in class–”

Harry breaks free from the hug, shock obvious in his eyes. _“No way–”_

“Way.” _This fucker, he’s grinning again!_ “And yeah, it was a passing thing, but then you had to go so out of your way to calling me out–”

Harry groans, hands on his eyes. The embarrassment of that encounter is still too much for him to bear. 

“Don't be embarrassed, I started liking you so much more since then!” Louis’ loud voice echoes in the empty campus, and Harry shushes him, terrified they might get caught. “You... Harry, god, you truly went out of your way to set things straight–”

Harry whines again. He _hates_ this.

“– Between us. You showed me your true beliefs and where you stood, even if that came with a risk for you. How could I not like you after seeing you like that? After seeing how earnest and passionate you really are?” 

The question seems rhetoric enough to spare Harry from replying. He slouches on Louis’ strong, solid body, breathing in the night’s sweat and the cigarette smoke. He would have never thought that those two smells together could appear so sweet and familiar to him, and more than that, he could have never thought to find himself in the earlier hours of the day, standing outside his dorm, freshly kissed by the same guy who made him lost his head twice, and for two very different reasons.

He realizes, tired, sleepy, overjoyed, that the egocentric feeling of the whole universe conspiring on his behalf had returned, and this time had led him to what he had yearned the most, these past years.

To somewhere he felt like he belonged to.

“The universe was right,” he whispers to Louis, his eyelids almost closing.

“Yeah?” Louis whispers back, holding him steadily, close to his chest.

“Mh-mh.” It's obvious how drained Harry is, and they both know they have to go to their dorms before they get caught. He stands straight again, taking his keys out. He doesn’t want Louis to leave.

“Will you tell me about it tomorrow morning?” Louis pushes his hair out of his forehead. “We can have breakfast together.”

Maybe he is already in bed, dreaming. “As in, like a date?” 

“Exactly like a date. I like you too, I told ya.”

Harry beams, eyes half-closed, keys clanging, hanging loosely on his fingers. He opens the door of the building as quietly as he can, and then turns to look at Louis again. Louis was right: he doesn’t want to forget any of this.

Louis kisses him one last time, just a peck on the lips.

“Come on babe, go to sleep. I’ll see you tomorrow over pancakes, deal?” He smiles at him, same sleepiness and same happiness in his eyes.

Harry nods, says _goodnight_ once again, and goes back to his dorm.

Yeah, he definitely got blessed at this point of his life.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Okay, I don’t know why I keep dreaming fic plots, but I always have the time of my life writing them down. I hope you’ve liked this story! And I would like to thank my friend S for making me use her ‘Romeo and Juliet/Reservoir Dogs’ comparison, your brain is huge ♡  
> If you wanna say hi you can find my tumblr at [chrysopon](https://chrysopon.tumblr.com/)! and you can reblog the [fic post](https://chrysopon.tumblr.com/post/645121802961649664/read-on-ao3) if you want to :)  
> Kudos, comments and feedback are always super appreciated, let me know what you think of this! Thank you for reading ♡♡♡


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